A Sugar Free Black Tea
by LilyBartAndTheOthers
Summary: And so he'd understand where the milk and the sweetness of my life come from. Even though at the end it's always a black tea. A sugar free black tea. WK fic


Let me guide you. Trust me. Keep your eyes closed and give me your hand. Stop. Here we are. Open your arms and lean your head backwards. Don't laugh but smile. Can you feel the wind passing through your hair ? Caressing your face ? And the waves, below. Can you hear them ? They rock your soul like a lullaby. This is your moment. Your right time. Enjoy it because we never know how long it's going to last.

My life is as bitter as a tea we would have let brew a bit too long. It's strong, hot and dark. Pour it in a mug and you won't see the bottom of it. There's always a part of mistery kept inside. From time to time I let some drops of milk plunge in it. It's just for a furtive moment but still, even subtle it all gets clearer. Not too bright either, I don't want to be scared. It's just how I need it. The right quantity. There's no enough sugar to make it sweet. I've not put some in it for quite a while. It's only an ocean of dark and bitter tea.

It's only my life. Only.

Everyday I go to the office, wishing for something I can't put a name on and that I never reach. There's something about this place. It's warm like a fireplace. Peaceful like a kiss. I'm proud to be a part of it, even though I let nobody know it. I love the sound of my heels against the hardwood floor. The smell escaping from the coffee machine, turned on. I spend a lot of time brushing with my fingers the different materials scattered on the tables, the chairs. A unique feeling for each touch. I want to keep all these sensations in mind, the effect they have on me. They're all and nothing.

I do have friends. And a family. But they don't understand me. I don't blame them, I'm just a little disappointed. I may be different. Do you know a lot of people who love paying attention to the smallest details ? The smell of painting, the softness of silk, the rustle of a match against the cardboard box. They would say I'm crazy if they learned about it. I know they would. But there it is, the secret of my happiness. The reason of my smiles. The sugar in my bitter tea. It's tiny, almost invisible, unexistant. But still, it's essential for me. I don't like black tea.

I wish it were different. Perhaps one day my heart will be able to speak, on its own. I won't have to hide me anymore. Behind a role. My mother used to say I was sensitive. Emotions just killed me. And so I changed my perspectives. Nobody knows how I love crying. Feeling the tears running on my face, caressing my skin. It's so easy. Too much, maybe. There's so many things I want to tell them, so many feelings I want to share. But I can't. I lack of courage. Loneliness and misunderstanding are my destiny. And bitterness the only taste of my sugar free tea.

I'm just looking for a bit of comprehension. A sign of agreement that I only get when my eyes meet with my reflection. In the mirror. When I see those hazel colored eyes, looking at me. The pale skin of my face I do brush with my fingertips. It's a long monologue that begins, an endless confidence. An utopia emerging into reality. I don't cheat. Rules are clear. I'm just someone else, I put aside my feelings. Nostalgia vanishes and I do my best to display a smile when magic breaks and someone enters the room. How I'd like to go on, like in front of the mirror. Just be myself and for once enjoy a white tea.

I would give anything to hug them when fate makes us be closer. Take Grace in my arms and plunge my face in her neck. The warmness of her body against mine, the softness of her hair through my fingers and the smell of her skin going straight to my heart. If only Jack could read through my imploring eyes. And reach my soul. We're so close that sometimes I feel the words passing by my throat, coming to my lips. And when I open my mouth to speak, silence is too loud. It all stays there, on the wrong side of the line. There's not even an inch till freedom. But it's an inch too much.

I can't help clentching my fists and biting my lips angrily when I see what I'm missing. How I'd like to take Will's hand, to caress his skin. And make him understand. But not only. If there's someone whom I want to share these feelings with, it's him. Will. It's his eyes I'd like to meet in the mirror, his arms I'd like to brush while behind him, I'd help him to open them. His head leant backwards, against my shoulder and his smile I could see when he would realize. Breathe ! The sounds, the touches. All these feelings, these sensations on our bodies. I want he trust me. I want he love me.

As I love him.

And so he'd understand where the milk and the sweetness of my life come from. Even though at the end it's always a black tea. A sugar free black tea.


End file.
